


BREAK YOU heal me

by Aethiox



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dark Clarke Griffin, F/F, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethiox/pseuds/Aethiox
Summary: !!dark!!She twitched, staring into the mirror as the faint thrumming of the bass of some song echoed in the background. Her face was cold, stoney as her dead blue eyes stared back at her, judging her. When was the last time she had seen life in her? Was there ever a time?The opening of the door should have startled her more. It didn’t. She drew in a breath, grinding her jaw as a pair stumbled in, kissing and tugging at each other. A woman walked in after them, and she twitched again. Her breath drew once more, not releasing the last one.//The woman- a brunette, 5’5”, green eyes, average strength at a glance, maybe 120-30 pounds, no weapons-// scoffs as she turns towards Clarke. //She looks sober.//They’re not supposed to be sober.==Clarke's job is by commission, but she's no artist. When she's hired for a job with minimal information, she doesn't hesitate to take it.She should have left the job.





	1. distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is an interest check. It's a full chapter, but I don't have anything written after this. I have a little amount of plotting, but not much.

Smoke swirled playfully as she tapped the side of the ash tray with her cigarette, eyes studying the gas as it faded out of visual reality. Her mind was closed, thrumming around her skull like a trapped beast. Drawing in her breath, her lungs cut outwards against her skin. She hadn’t done much productive, as of late, had she? The constant lack of food becoming more and more of a problem for her health. But she had a roof over her, didn’t she?

She mocks herself, in these ways. Smoke, smoke was free. Smoke didn’t care if you trapped it, it would simply fade. Were people like smoke? Fading slowly, over longer periods of time? Why couldn’t she be more like smoke? Why couldn’t she be more like Abby? Shaking away the thought, she studied her hands.

One held the cigarette- burned to it’s last. The other relaxed against her thigh, the knife strapped to her thigh resting right beside it. Under it, the paper. Someone gave her a job, and if she was smart she’d do it. So she was. Flipping the note over to read it again, the girl frowned at it.

**_Wanheda._ **

**_I want you to take someone from Revered tonight. No target. Just bring me someone._ **

**_King._ **

She was curious, of course. But it wasn’t her business to know, it was her business to do. So she’d do, just like she’s always done. Thinking, she examined the building through her memory. It was dark, a nice outside area without any cameras would probably prove useful for tonight.

She’d need a disguise. She groaned at the idea, quickly deciding to half ass that part of her job. Some light makeup and a hoodie should do it. After all, they were supposed to be drunk, right?

Wandering over to the old dresser, roughly pulling out the abused drawers to search through them. Pulling out a sweatshirt, she threw it on a nearby surface along with some nicer jeans. Maybe she should do a blouse instead? Nah, she didn’t want to have some dumbass spill their drink on her shirt and have to do an early load of laundry, throwing off her schedule.

She leaned back, stretching out her pound famished form in hopes to pop her spine to a more comfortable position. The satisfying click of her bones shifting and sliding back into where they were supposed to be echoed through the room before she slumped into a chair, eyeing the room.

She took a nap to pass the time, eventually. Knowing thinking more wouldn’t be productive for herself she didn’t want to bother doing it.

Pawing her face as she woke up, she glanced towards the clock. It was time to get moving. She thanked her internal clock for working flawlessly for once, flexing her muscles and joints to work the sleep out of them. Her body slink out of bed, falling into a familiar pattern.

Light makeup, throwing on preselected clothes, grab a snack, fuss over makeup again, then leave.Nothing big, nothing small. Nothing more than she needed, nothing less than she wanted.

She would make it to the club in a few minutes, exiting the rundown apartment building and hoping in her car. She’d make it to the club in a few minutes, parking the car in the back so it was easy to get to. Not her first rodeo, not her last.

She stood outside the building, looking over the exterior one last time. It was sleek, modern, but a bar. A nightclub. It was messy, dirty and just about everything she was looking for. Roan must have been feeling nice. The name, Revered, was a code name for the joint. But it was better than the real name, Red’s Hammer. What fucking idiot names a club that? She rolls her eyes internally.

Clarke pushed through the door, music immediately felt in her chest and throat as the beat hit her. It was something she appreciated in the moment, a grounding factor in a sea of unstable thoughts and half formed plans. It was a nice place, over all. Booths along the side, a dance floor in the center. The back door was in a good place too, hosted by the corner of a wall.

Clarke’s lip twitched, this would be easier than she thought, perhaps. She’d lure someone over then take them outside, or she could get them drunk and tell them to follow her. Nodding to herself, the blonde decided to wait a bit longer before enacting her plan. She wandered over to the bar, neon lights painting her in blues, pinks, and reds as she slunk forwards. A bartender saw her coming, and nodded to her. A gesture he’d get to her in a minute.

Clarke took a stool, surveying the crowd. No one caught her eyes yet. A voice called to her, and she turned her head. “Blondie! Whatcha in the mood for?” The bartender from earlier said, a smirk on his lips. His expression didn’t falter at her stone faced stare as she considered her options. “How ‘bouta Black Russian?” She asked, and he nods in return. A few seconds later, he places the drink in front of her. “Strong drink, Blondie. Good choice.” Her said, his smirk- previously amusing, was beginning to become annoying.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She said, nodding as she took a sip. She’d exhale softly as the strong alcohol burned down her throat, standing from the stool. She weaved her way through the crowds to go back to her previous place.

Then she saw her target. A smirk appeared on her face, only to fall when she saw the group he was with. To small to have one leave and have no one notice. She huffed, frustration creeping up on her. She’d go to the bathroom to cool off before she did anything rash.

She pushed her way through the crowds again to the bathroom door, pulling it open and herself through. It looked like it was empty- a miracle, a sign? Who knows. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe slowly to relax. As she felt her ‘frustration’ creep away, she reopened her eyes.

She twitched, staring into the mirror as the faint thrumming of the bass of some song echoed in the background. Her face was cold, stoney as her dead blue eyes stared back at her, judging her. When was the last time she had seen life in her? Was there ever a time?

The opening of the door should have startled her more. It didn’t. She drew in a breath, grinding her jaw as a pair stumbled in, kissing and tugging at each other. A woman walked in after them, and she twitched again. Her breath drew once more, not releasing the last one.

The woman- _a brunette, 5’5”, green eyes, average strength at a glance, maybe 120-30 pounds, no weapons-_ scoffs as she turns towards Clarke. _She looks sober._

_They’re not supposed to be sober._

She growls softly to herself as the woman draws closer, going to wash her hands before entering one of the bathroom stalls besides the couple. Clarke flexes her jaw, cold, dark eyes studying the other woman through the mirror. She was dressed to party, a nice dress hugging her form. Compared to Clarke, in her sweatshirt and jeans, she looked stunning. She had a natural beauty to her, gifted by her innocent eyes and sharp features. Her hair was a chocolate color, streaks of amber running through rarely.

As the woman opens her mouth, Clarke exhales the breath that was beginning to turn the edges of her vision blurry. She glanced over, and the woman only winces in turn as the moaning from the couple only increases.

She growls, eyes narrowing to irritated slits as her fingers strum the ceramic sink and she can feel the brunette’s eyes on her. She hates it. She’s not used to being the center of attention of a single person. No, she was used to crowds. And it wasn’t the... confusion. This girl showed. It was fear, anger. The negatives, not the neutrals. Never the positives.

She’s been studying her to long.

Clarke’s head snaps to the side, staring down the brunette as her voice snarls without her meaning. “What?”

The brunette looks startled, but to her credit she responds quickly. “You look like you’re about to- I mean, I’m just as ready to with those dickbags fucking over there- I mean not about to fuck someone- I just-“

Clarke wants to punch the stuttering, meek form in front of her, tuning out the stuttering a moment to gather herself. A low growl comes from her throat, noticing the woman was still going. “I look like I’m gonna kill somebody?”

The brunette’s eyes widen, but she nods fearfully. “I- uh- yeah. You do. Something happen?”

Eyeing the girl only a moment, Clarke’s mind starts spiraling. What if... yes. That would do nicely. The stone faced girl gave a half hearted smile, “Yeah, I just had a business partner pull out on me. Something about not being able to cover their half of the costs. Rich assholes.” She rolls her eyes to accompany the story.

The girl lit up at finally getting some sort of reaction that wasn’t negative from the girl, holding out her clean hand to shake Clarke’s.

“I’m Lexa. Woods. Lexa Woods.” She stumbled again slightly, and Clarke chuckled softly in return.

“Clarke Griffin.” She gripped her hand, shaking it. “Well, can I get you a drink, Ms. Woods?” And the stranger smiled and agreed.


	2. Note

Hey y’all! I’ve decided I’m going to continue this, but I will be rewriting it as the first chapter is

A, too short for what I’d like for this story.

B, someone said the characters were ooc. While ik every universe has differences, I tend to fall into the same personality if I don’t develop characters- why they’re like that, their history, their mannerisms. So I have a bit of work to do just to get started!

C, I’d also like the chance to write ahead, have a storyline set out. I have a bit of the second chapter written, but it’s not complete.

I’ll just go ahead and drop a couple paragraphs of it for y’all:

> “Lexa, right? Clarke.” She introduced herself again, but didn’t get a response other than a simple: “Why?”
> 
> Clarke doesn’t miss a beat, “It’s my job.” And Lexa almost wishes she had. She hangs her head in defeat after a moment of pretending she was strong enough, eyes falling to the ground.
> 
> “Why me?”
> 
> Clarke studies her a moment, before her honest words rung out of her throat like water in a cloth. “You were an easy target. You didn’t expect me to do anything to you we both didn’t want.” She paused, before continuing. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Lexa.-“ the girl winces at the use of her name- “No one targeted you, if you’re worried about that.”

I’ll post the link to the new story here, in a new chapter. Hope y’all have a good day!


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